


look at the stars (they shine for you)

by ShipperificWings



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, I Tried, M/M, Magical Artifacts, My First Work in This Fandom, POV First Person, ignoring canon because my kid deserves to meet his mum, scientist!simon, wedding proposals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 11:06:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11919609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShipperificWings/pseuds/ShipperificWings
Summary: I like it when Snow focuses on his book reading because when he does that, he starts doing this adorable face which is halfway between a frown and a pout (it’s still very distracting, even if we’re no longer sitting far from each other on a crowded room) so I try to avoid kissing him because he needs to study and he’s soon to try for that teaching position I’ve been telling him he could be quite good at. It’s just too bad he looks delicious when he studies.





	look at the stars (they shine for you)

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I'm a newbie, please be gentle as is my first snowbaz attempt 
> 
> I wanted to write some SnowBaz fluff because I’m a big softie and I’ve been writing too much angst as of lately. Also ecologist Simon has a special spot on my nerd heart ♥; shout out to Carry On, for making me realize I also ship Drarry.

**_Baz_ **

****

I like it when Snow focuses on his book reading because when he does that, he starts doing this adorable face which is halfway between a frown and a pout (it’s still very distracting, even if we’re no longer sitting far from each other on a crowded room) so I try to avoid kissing him because _he needs to study_ and he’s soon to try for that teaching position I’ve been telling him he could be quite good at. It’s just too bad he looks _delicious_ when he studies.

 

He looks even better with a lab coat. I may be developing a full on crush on scientists thanks to Simon Snow and I don’t regret anything.

 

It’s very fetching if one considers I’ve been in love with the man for years.

 

_Will we have more years?_

****

****

**_***_ **

****

**_Simon_ **

 

As I finish reading a passage about restoration and habitat patches that has me frankly engrossed and acting like Penelope would about legal issues regarding magical creatures my gaze zeroes on Baz, who’s twitching slightly but is otherwise acting every bit like his snob, upper-class self. It’s funny how I still glance at him and marvel at how there’s so many sides of Baz, there’s the quiet, diligent student that dedicates himself to _knowledge_ and there’s the snarky Baz, with the dry humor that make people believe even the most outrageous of his claims ( _he once stormed in when the Bunces visited me and Penelope back at our joint flat and asked me if I could go help him with the prisoners back at his house; I had a hard time explaining how my boyfriend was not in fact an evil overlord),_ the Baz that is _tender,_ caring beyond measure and holds me in bed when I have a nightmare or lets me hold him when _he’s_ the one having a nightmare and of course, there’s the silent, twitchyBaz, which is equal to _I’m planning something I don’t want Simon to know about._

_That one_ is the Baz I’m looking at right now. When I ask him what is going on he gives me that devilish smile of his and says “many things, Simon. Particularly that new hairstyle,” and of course he’d turn to mock my hair, which is fairly tame for its Watford’s days and is slightly less curly, more of a wavy mass of hair with the same golden color. When I roll my eyes he chuckles well naturedly and drops a kiss on my hair (Penelope always complains that we are in fact too affectionate for tastes). I try not to smile stupidly at his adorable show of affection and fail miserably.

 

As Baz’s partner and former enemy I can say now that I can recognize when he’s hiding something. It’s also a bit difficult to be secretive about things once you live with someone. We’ve simply become fairly transparent to each other, Penelope says that is normal for it to happen to couples that have been together for a long time before they actually became a couple as we did when we were children—she says the seniority of our relationship makes us very suited to one another.She also thinks our story is so romantic and when I point out that Baz _tried to kill me when we were children_ she accuses me of being a killjoy and starts singing this Queen song-turned to spell all the time, nothing makes her happier than singing Death on Two Legs when I point out anything that’s not on her _headcanon_ of us (whatever that is), her love for the song is based on the chorus being an enormous litany of how the guy the band is singing about is (among other things) a killjoy and a madman and she thinks its _charming_ to sing to me the chorus when I destroy her arguments (never mind I do like her voice, it’s deep and as everything with Penelope makes her look wise beyond her years).

 

She says she also enjoys me being unafraid of speaking my mind for once and just _talking and doing_ and _Simon you’ve become so brilliant. I can’t wait until you learn more about ecological restoring_ and when she gets like that I can hardly put her down. I still think Baz and Penelope expect me to be this great hero I clearly aren’t and will never be. And when I point out stuff like that—Baz tricking me into accidents in the past and downright attacking me or my appearance (I still feel so _confused_ about it, how all Baz wanted was to be like me and how later on he just wanted to well, _bewith me_ ) -- is only to remind myself that Baz is in fact as human as I am. Or well, as _alive as I am._ I’ll never think of him as a dead man walking, the fact that he is _magical_ makes him very much alive; I also like to remind him that one can’t simply go around transfiguring energy, _repurposing_ energy if there’s no energy, nothing there in the first place to transfigure and Baz shines with so much life and energy even when he’s being a snobby prat, with his cuffs and turtlenecks (Californian normals have so much fun pointing out how he should refrain from wearing them in the warm weather and he in turn sends murderous looks their way) and I’ve told him so but he still says that I’m just being a Simon about it. Yes “a Simon”, my own bloody boyfriend _makes fun of me._ I mostly make him pay by making him listen to old normal songs that I know he considers too crass (let’s just say I enjoy torturing with some Gaga, sometimes I’m a nice guy and put the ballads she’s sung because _I love him,_ and I’m a nice man) _;_ there’s no better way to get back at posh young men like Baz likeusing outrageously crass music.

 

Penelope only rolls her eyes at us and says that although we’re very suited to one another _we’re still idiots about it_ and that’s when I point out she rarely speaks to Mycah this days. She merely shrugs when I bring that out and I would feel worried if she wasn’t such a practical woman—whatever is going on, I think she can make it work at the end of the day and be back for tea and pie. Or scones and coffee. We’ve been mixing our pastries and beverages so much to the point we could be considered downright edgy by people like the Pitch-Grimms and the Wellbeloves. Penelope’s mum _loves it,_ says it was time we saw the world, all of it and not just magic—that it was our moment to set a principle for the rest of _us._ At that point I mostly nod in the background although magic isn’t something I _feel_ anymore. It’s just something I knew in the past and it’s now _foreign_ to me. I can’t remember what it felt like anymore and I don’t give it much thought this days (all old habits die hard after all) but I guess I’m still a very important figure to the community. And their twisted idea of equality.

 

Let’s just say I’m glad my career in politics was very short lived. I was paraded around like the unfortunate heir of the Mage—and yeah, I don’t like thinking much about it, it still hurts to think of _him_ even when I’ve known for years that I’m not only his heir—so for a while I was the poor, magicless heir and then one day things had gone quiet and the magical press and community had stopped care for The Mage’s Heir (I guess I can also count myself lucky for them never ever finding out how I’m actually _The Mage’s Child_ ).

 

I shake my head sadly to myself. I can’t think of _him in that way_ even though I was used and discarded around as it was conveniently. Sometimes Baz has to sing me to sleep when a nightmare wakes me up. He then nestles me on his arms and sings—his voice has a healing quality that neither normal medicine nor magical one can convey; it makes me feel lightheaded and safe and sometimes, when Baz is too sleepy to keep his guard up I can feel when he thinks something, a brief glimpse of his thoughts which at this point had been very varied raging from football, and our flat’s design and how he wishes he knew how to help me and all sort of things that make me want to kiss him until we’re breathless and burning up with want.

 

So, when laying curled up with him one night after a particularly nasty nightmare he starts singing and I hear a desperate _he can’t find out, what am I going to do? Will he still love me?_ I just keep on listening worried because _I trust Baz,_ I literally have built a home with the man, why would _he_ be scared of me finding out something he did if there was nothing to explain. _It was baffling._

 

The next morning Baz is up and instead of wearing his favorite combination of too-formal-trousers with expensive-as-hell shirt he goes for one of my _scientists do it precisely_ shirts and jeans with trainers and I just stare at him because saying he’s out of character wouldn’t even being to cover it.

 

And also because _it’s kind of hot._ I mean, I’m still fairly young and seeing my partner wearing something of mine will never fail to make me smile stupidly at him.

 

He smirks, because he knows I’m rendered mute by his choice of attire. There’s just a thing about smart men with a smirk that I like and besides _Baz is beautiful._ And loyal. And he will never be replaced by anyone in my heart. I smile back at him timidly and he drops a kiss on my hair. I chuckle, because he has a thing with my hair, and I’m now more than well aware that he used to stare at it on the night when I was asleep.

“You were thinking loud again yesterday,” I say, my back is still resting against his chest and he keeps pressing kisses here and there. We’re very affectionate in moments like these.

 

“Did I?” he asks, because Merlin forbid he says anything straightforwardly—and he’s very good at deflecting when he feels like I can get worked up about something. It honestly can be a bit too much sometimes and it’s the reason why I’m asking him directly, with Baz one couldn’t let things rest and cool themselves or else he’d come to conclusions and some of them weren’t good. It’s just hard for him to speak plainly.

 

“Baz,” I groan—both in pleasure and annoyance because he’s petting my hair and he knows I’m rather _sensitive_ about it and because well, he’s deflecting, overprotecting me like he does ever since _he_ died.

“Very well _, Simon_ ,” he says into my hair slowly, he’s become accustomed to saying my name now, at least when we’re alone he does. I turn around to have a better look at his face, he seems flustered but I ignore why he’d feel that way. I touch his face softly and he closes his eyes, visibly relaxing with every caress.I place tiny kisses on his face, tender loving one that I’ve come to cherish with all my being. He hums appreciatively. I’m so happy to have him in my life, even this I treasure deeply.

 

“Remember the suit I gave you last Christmas?” he asks, eyes still firmly closed as he talks. I open my eyes suddenly focusing very intently on his face, because _when he does that…_

“The deepblue one?” I ask him, remembering the look of sheer happiness on his face when I said I really liked it.

 

“Yes, that one.”

 

“What about it?”

 

“Well, you know what day it is?”

 

I concentrate on that question. I knew since I woke up that something _important_ happened this day but since it’s not Baz’s birthday or our anniversary, I’ve been wondering all day about it—and then something clicks on my brain and I realize _five years ago was the day I saved Baz from the fire—the same day I kissed him for the first time._

“The first time we kissed?” I tell him and he opens his eyes—so calm and utterly _grey—_ and smiles open mouthed (his fangs are showing and it absurdly makes me want to giggle because _he has fangs_ and _I have a tail and wings_ but we’re both working at normal universities on _California_ ).

 

“The first time _you_ kissed _me,_ ” he says very pleased with himself. It’s grumble but say nothing else, it makes me happy that he’s so confident about what we have now. It makes me want to sing at the top of my lungs and scream that I love him and snog him senseless where everyone can watch, just so they know _I’m his and he’s mine._

“Yes. Alright—the thing is, we haven’t discussed this before but I’d like you to know that you’re very important to me,” he says slowly, the same way he used to talk at school back when he wanted to imply I was too slow to understand something only now I know he only did it because he wanted to make sure I understood what he was saying. And so he could drain his anger too, because of the whole enemy dynamic.

 

“You’re very important for me too,” I answer plainly. I don’t want to overwhelm him with my displays of affection, I know it’s not the same with everyone and I’ve come to accept it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He kisses me softly. He’s gotten quite good at shutting me up with his lips and he’s grown quite fond of the idea of solving things by kissing, he’s not as good at solving things with kisses, not as I am, but he’s gotten better.

 

“I’ve wanted to ask you something for a while,” he says breathing in my hair, probably buying some time before he announces something horrible and I panic thinking it may be about Penelope, or the Wellbeloves or maybe him being sick; all kinds of horrible thoughts plague my mind for a moment and then I look at him and I register were not on our minimalistic flat but on the skies—or a child’s version of the sky as there’s stars shining all around us and there’s people that shouldn’t be there looking at us and he smiles awkwardly at me, that small thing he does that hides his fangs and I have the impulse to tell him that _he can show me his full smile again;_ after all I love him as he is and—and he’s talking so I stop thinking and listen.

 

“Simon Snow, I have a question to ask you. But I need you to get as honest with me as you can, forget my feelings for a while and just answer…do you want to share the rest of your days with me? If so,” he pauses and summons a nice silver-colored box with a ring band inside, “you’d make me a very proud man.”

 

I get ridiculously emotional and kiss his face, his neck, and his hands. “Of course I do, I’ll marry you here and in any other strange universe you conjure.”

 

He kisses me back, tongue languidly sweeping over my lip, hands touching every bit of skin available. “ _All of them,_ I swear to you we’ll marry in every and any universe you want to.”

 

“Us,” I correct him breathless.

 

“It’s all about the both of us.”

 

He rests his hands on my chest and flips me on top of him. I grin back at him, _delighted_ by the sight of a flushed Baz, with his dark hair falling to his shoulders and his eyes shining with emotion. I’m pretty sure my own eyes are watery as his are right now and it makes me so very happy.

 

*

 

A while after, we’re both nestled together on a couch (we never made it to the bed) and he says “that was the greatest question ever asked by me for anyone, and I have to ask yet another thing of you.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yes. I want us to get dressed with the suit I mentioned early,”

 

And _oh._

“Because we’re meeting our family in a few minutes,” he finishes and I look at him, amazed by the idea of them _having a family together._ I sniff and Baz is too kind to comment anything, because he’s rather emotional too; instead he squeezes my hand and kisses me slowly-purposely- again, before he smiles smugly and whispers in my ear “we don’t want anyone to find us half naked again, do we?” and I nod because the perspective of having his stepmom or worse, the Bunces, finding him with Baz on a compromising position.

 

After we get dressed and I attempt to will my curls on a reasonable hairstyle, I come down the stairs a sharply dressed Baz –he’s wearing a pair of bat shaped cufflinks I gave him as a gift two years ago, it was supposed to be a joke and I got it from a store at uni which sells diverse clothing and accessories themed around animals, plants, genetics and such and it turns out he _loved_ them—and then he waves at what I realize is now our audience—Agatha’s mum waves at me looking about to burst into tears and next to her is the doctor Wellbelove smiling at me proudly, Penelope is smiling too with Mycah and Agatha on tow who greet me with a thumbs up and a polite nod with the head, respectively. But is not them who I rest my eyes on or the Pitch-Grimms that look awkwardly (Baz’s dad) or amusedly (the myriad of not-so-tiny siblings) at me, but seem overall at ease with me being Baz’s partner after so long— it’s the blonde haired woman I stare at and can’t take my eyes off. She’s sort of translucent but corporeal enough for me to discern a pair of vivid eyes and her long, curly hair waving as some breeze enters the room. I look at her intently and she mouths _Simon_ and I just—before I notice it I’m crying and I care very little if people are looking at us—I thought I’ll never see her again and I tell her so, at which point she smiles at me and says _of course not, my dear boy. My sweet child. I said we’d be stars together,_ and she places a small hand on my hair –so alike hers- as a lone tear rolls down her cheek.

 

“ _Mum?_ ” I ask, eyes wide open staring at the young figure in front of me—she’s about my age and she looks at me understanding, of course she does, it feels sometimes like she never left me. Like she’s always been here.

 

“ _It’s alright my dear. Don’t let fear stop you from moving onto greater things—carry on, my child_ ” she says and stands by my said—she looks at me and I think in the light she looks as pale as Baz and if that’s not a testimony to _life being more than we think I don’t know what it’s._

 

Baz smiles at me shyly and says “I’m so glad, so _happy,_ you said yes Simon” and I take his face and study the details old and new alike, thinking _of course I do, you prat_ and end up saying “I was born to be your partner—of course I’d accepted.”

 

The room erupts into applause and after Baz’s father starts coughing awkwardly I remember we’ve been kissing rather inappropriately—and open my eyes to find _Baz created an universe on a pocket, for us._ It looks green-ish and I’m sure it has over-the-top decoration to make up for the flat’s minimalistic style and I there’s no doubt in my mind Baz has made the whole thing onto a pocket patrimony of the magic and _I don’t mind_ because I know it’s ours.

 

I smile at Baz and we both jump into it momentarily.

 

“Well, it looks very _normal,_ ” I say pointing out the console and sweets which are all normal and the _normal_ band playing on the background with---well, you guess it, almost everything there was normal.

 

When I point it out he laughs.

 

“I wanted it to be magical and normal. Our very own magical realism in here, because that’s what _we are_ and that’s how love works—it’s both magical and mundane, _normal_ and I want you to feel it’s ours.”

 

There’s tears on Baz’s eyes and I kiss every eyelid—we’re being unusually effusive and I tell him “I think we’ve scarred your father with all the kissing.”

 

He turns red; I can only tell because our faces are millimeters apart—and suddenly I have the silly thought _if only I could take my Vernier I could measure the distance between our faces exactly_. Its bloody insane and a product of too much studying.

 

“He’s still getting used to it. The other day he turned to me and suggested we could ask Bunce to have our babies.”

 

I laugh because _honestly_ it’s just so sudden and his family’s obsession with a Grimm-Pitch heir is frankly disturbing; he chuckles.

 

“ _What?_ ”

 

“ _You’re_ thinking of babies too!”

 

“Well,” I start defensively, “we could adopt children like you or like me, give a child without parents a home.”

 

He looks thoughtful for a moment and then he quirks his lip slightly in that odd not-quite-a-smile that I love so much.

 

“Alright, we’ll talk about little Simons later,” he says and I kindly refrain to point out that is not like we’re having them by sexual reproduction and as such they wouldn’t be little Simons or even little Bazes but I leave it at that because he leans in for another –more appropriate- kiss.

 

 

*****

 

There’s this slightly younger TA (Danny, I think) that according to Baz is always _all over me_ and I guess he’s right because the moment he sees I’m wearing a silver band on a chain around my neck (my idea, Baz insisted I needn’t do it but he smiles every time he sees it dangling on my throat so _he can’t be too cross about it)_ he visibly deflates and says “hello Simon” instead of his usual bright smile, he’s frowning at the chain. Baz also makes a point to drop by later on a kiss me, on the mouth and very publicly if I may add (and it makes me so happy I don’t even complain too harshly to him) because he says a nice partner should always take care of the other.

 

I carefully refrain from explaining he could be useful if he would leave my TA alone and he sits there, absolutely ignorant of it all (he’s doing law now too and he’s reasonably knowledgeable but he doesn’t know _everything_ like I do) but looking like as smart as a whip, just like he did back at school, that upturned nose that make people think that he has at least a PhD on it. The silver band on his pale neck glints and I smile foolishly before concentrating on the lesson again.

 

*****

 

It’s not the end but the beginning of many things.

 


End file.
